Hashtag Fashion Pain #WEP #WEPFF

Hashtag

Oooh, how attractive I look in this! No one will be able to resist taking snapshots and groupies. Hashtag fabulous! Hashtag OneOfAKind! Hashtag BestDressed! All eyes will be on me this evening. 

"Your car," the valet dangles my keys. Impossible to believe, but they didn't send a limo for me. I am wearing this one-of-a-kind, photo-snagging, social-media-viral-bait couture, yet I'm expected to drive myself. Just because the event is for charity doesn't mean they shouldn't splurge on people like me. 

The outfit's mirrors, sequins, and jewels glimmer and shine, attracting every light on the road. A flashing pink neon sign looks especially elegant. I pause for a selfie. Hashtag RadiantInPink! The rude driver behind me honks. Uncultured savage. No appreciation for the fine art piece before him, which he is getting to view for free, I might add. He can wait while I post. My followers need a sneak peek to admire while I'm en route. 

An alert flashes on my phone. I click it as I merge onto the highway.

OH

MY

GODDESS

The designer of this magnificent outfit is dead!

I have the only copy of this in existence! I might be wearing the final design. 

And it's going to be wasted debuting at a charity event for burn victims or cleft palates or whatever I'm boosting support for tonight. Should I go to a club first? I have a duty to present myself in this at the finest venue possible, don't I? If I get off at this exit, I can give the world that gift. It's only three lanes of traffic. They'll move out of my way. It's me, after all. 

~~~

What is this awful white light? And that horrendous beeping sound? And, eww, what low-thread-count fabric is touching me?

"Scissors."

"Yes, doctor."

Scissors? "What's happening?"

"You've been in a car accident. We need to remove your clothing to save you."

"What? No! Don't cut the couture! It's the only one, it's the last one. Are you whacked? I need to be photographed wearing this. Not in such harsh light, naturally. But somewhere worthy. My followers need to see what I'm wearing. Do you not know who I am?"

The pockmarked doctor sneers. "You're wearing a steering column. There's a turn signal sticking out of your exposed intestines. Is that really an image you want to share?" 

~~~

Hashtag Recovery isn't trending. My follower count dips below the influencer level. I'm evicted from my luxurious apartment. A newcomer gets it, along with much of my swag, and has the nerve to post pictures along with the tags: #Retro #YoungerAndBetterLooking #LearnToDrive #CoutureKiller.

The last one hurts the most. It is trending. No one can forgive my allowing the final design to be destroyed. Tiny mirrors, sequins, and jewels all covered in blood are posted as a gifset hiding my face. My social media reflection is of a has-been. I should have died wearing that outfit. Better death than to be alive as someone no longer worthy of seeing. 

Hashtag

By: Jamie Dorner

FCA

According to Google Docs, I have 501 words, but according to WordCounter.net, I have 385 words. Either way, it's under 1000. 

Tagline: Fashion becomes pain for a narcissistic social media influencer.  

---

The good news right now is that no one else in my "circle" has died or contracted a new deadly disease or issue in the last month. (Followers here know I've had a rough year.)

Also, I managed to buckle down long enough to write this and to write an entry for WriteClub.

#WRiTECLUB2021

The submissions are all in and our Slushpile readers are busy reading each one to decide if it has what it takes to step into the ring. Not an easy task!

The field will be set and daily bouts begin on Dec6th!

Will you be in one of them? 😀

— 𝑫𝑳 (@DL_H) November 29, 2021

Entered #WRiTECLUB2021

 https://www.dlhammons.com/p/write-club-2021-tenth-edition.html

https://www.instagram.com/p/CWpUHuJsyd3fIzcNylPCHtK6Co-v-jv_qZtwW40/

I made an Instagram post about entering.
I can't say what I wrote or what pen name I used.

But I can say that I hope you'll read and vote in every round.

Hopefully one of the entries will be mine.

Wep Award

 https://writeeditpublishnow.blogspot.com/2021/11/winners-of-wep-october-challenge.html

I won an award!

The Regret Scream #WEPFF #WEP Flash Fiction and Memorial Obituaries

This part isn't my entry, but it is an excerpt from the project I plan to work on during NaNoWriMo this year, and it includes a scream:


Link to my NaNoWriMo project.

During Covid-19, a teen craniopharyngioma survivor masks and vaccinated, but her family is opposed. She's dead to them for using precautions. But is she ACTUALLY dead?

When I had craniopharyngioma I wondered what might happen if I died. What would it be like for my birthday-twin brother on our birthday? Or for our parents?
Well, now I know.



Onto the entry:

Where this Scream story came from--

💭

I had a f🤬ked up dream nightmare that the antimaskers won. And everyone just gave up on fighting Covid. The death toll was 80 million a year worldwide, but everyone was okay with it. "We're fighting global warming! The bodies of the dead are keeping us warm!" Public places, like malls and museums, were buying dead bodies to burn. People were the new firewood. Except there were scientists on tv pleading, "the zeta variant can be transmitted after death. The burning bodies are spreading the virus. We will go extinct!"

😷

#tagline = The Regret Scream is a dystopian flash fiction where Covid is also spread by burning infected bodies, and an antimasker commits manslaughter.

993 words FCA

---

The Regret Scream

Smoke rises from old chimneys, darkening the air and dirtying the laundry that had been hung out to dry. I cough, hack, and wheeze while pulling my bedsheets from the clothesline. My neighbor watches from her porch. I know she wants to yell that I ought to wear a mask. She was always Covid-shaming people in our neighborhood. That's outlawed talk now. I nod to her, giving a smirk the equivalent of a middle finger.

A bell rings as a cart comes to my street. I head to the curb.

"Bring out your dead!" The bell chimes again as the cart nears. It stops at my house. "Anyone for me today, Jimbo?"

I shake my head. "I can't believe you're doing this job."

Nurse Falcone rings his bell again. "Eh, beats the old days. No one vomits on me, I don't empty bedpans, and there are no complaints when I take a bathroom break."

We wave goodbye. In the former times, I delivered flowers. Nurse Falcone was often on duty when I dropped off my daily bouquets. Then the vaccine mandate for healthcare workers was enacted and he quit. When the mandate was expanded to delivery folk, I quit too. Weren't many flowers going anywhere but funeral homes by then anyway.

I take the bus to my sister's place. This transport is too loud, always has been. But since it runs on renewables, it's one of the few things that works anymore. I miss my car. Gasoline prices topped out at $30 a gallon, a price beyond what anyone could afford, so the stations mostly shut down. The bus passes what was once an Exxon station. Valdez seemed like the worst they'd deal with once. Graffiti of colorful curse words shows that worse came to pass. The company went bankrupt, laying off the surviving six thousand employees. They claimed the other eight thousand had died in under a year. Probably a bluff to get a government bailout. We can't afford their gasoline so they take our tax dollars instead. Typical! 

Cans and fishing line try to trip me up as I approach my sister's place. Boobytraps to keep people away from her door. She's unhinged, but she's my sister.

"Trish! It's Wednesday," I holler while knocking on her door. 

An upstairs window slides open. "Yeah? There been a change?"

I roll my eyes. "No. That mean you're still not gonna let me in? I came across town on one of those stupid busses. Have a meal with your only brother."

"And then who would take care of our only mother? Bad enough you have me opening this window."

"It isn't airborne you tool! Stop buying into the propaganda. Come on, it's just dinner."

Why did I come here? I fold my hands over my head as she sobs. "I can't. I want to, but it isn't safe. Please get vaccinated and quarantine in the tent so I can let you in. Mom and I miss you."

Stupid sheep. Before she can protest, I leap up a tree and climb to her window. "Stop living in fear. You and mom need to get out."

I yank down her mask, kiss her nose, and then drop back down to the door. She screams and cries as I walk away. 

She'll see. When she's fine in a week, two weeks, maybe a month. She'll see the world isn't dangerous, and neither am I.

No dinner here, so I trudge down to the mall. Flopping onto a bench, I wait for my coughing fit to end. Probably just thirsty. 

The mostly abandoned former shopping mecca looms before me. Half of it is an assisted living facility, and part is apartments, but the food court is thriving. The major chains all went under, crying that they couldn't get workers. People rather starve than work. Acting like a line cook and a CEO both deserve enough pay for a big house, childcare, food, medical care, and whatever else. Now those former line cooks are bodies in the fire pit. Everything is roasted over them. I get a squab and squash skewer to eat on the bus ride home.

~

Fourteen days pass. There's a knock on my door. 

"Jim Bobalda?" Two medical officers in bio-suits ask. 

"Yeah?" They require a swab and fingerprints verification. The machine beeps and a red light comes on. "What? Am I not me?"

"Sir, you're infected. Probably got it from a burning body. Are you vaccinated? Wear a mask?"

"Hell no I ain't vaccinated." I rip off my shirt, showing my tattoo. "Face Freedom Force! No masks."

The officers exchange glances and take a step back before consulting their device again. "We've come to inform you of the death of your mother and sister. Based on this swab, you carry the strand they were infected by. Did you have contact?"

"What?" My knees give out.

"Contact. Have you had contact in the last five to twenty days?"

"Yeah. Trish and I were supposed to have dinner two weeks ago. She didn't let me in though."

They exchange glances. "No mask?"

I press my forehead to the ground. This can't be real. It can't be true. I hear them repeat the question, but they're a million miles away.

Someone grabs my arm. There's a siren in the distance. Someone says they're the police.

"What?" I say again, hoping I heard wrong. That my family isn't dead, isn't gone.

Metal tightens against my wrist. 

"A security camera caught it. He infected them. Can't make these types vaccinate or wear a mask, but certainly can haul them away for manslaughter."

Miranda rights are recited three times as I'm carted off. 

Trish and mom are probably in a cart. Bodies sold by whoever found them. I can't even say goodbye.

"No!" I hear the scream. It isn't until my throat aches that I realize I'm the one screaming. I grab my face. If only I had worn a mask.

---

I know two people who are battling multiple myeloma right now. 😕
I mentioned last WEP that two of my relatives have serious cancer. Well, one of them, that's the kind of cancer. The other was brain cancer, which was my mother-in-law, and she has now passed away.
Frankly, I've had enough of death. My brother-in-law died of an infection. 19 days later, my mom had a heart attack and died 💔, and 19 days after that is when my mother-in-law died. 
So I'm done. 
None of my writing right now is especially "good." It's anger and pain. This is me, SCREAMING.

My brother called me that morning to say my dad was taking my mom to the hospital because she was feeling a little weird, weak and dizzy. She was diabetic and it was early, so I thought maybe just low blood sugar. 🍪 I thought they'd feed her a cookie and she'd be okay. But then I got this text from my dad. And I screamed "WHAT" for nearly an hour. 

I drafted the first half of this post before the triple-death-blows. I'm going to attempt Nano, but I'm not as amped up about it as usual. If I manage to write at all, that'll be a "win" to me. 

In memory:

(Some of you also know my husband's cousin, J Lenni Dorner. Obviously he was related, distantly, too, and is also devastated by these losses.)

#POEM Bullets or Blood Cells #WEP #WEPFF

https://writeeditpublishnow.blogspot.com/2021/08/wep-2021-continues-artistic-inspiration.html

I haven't written poetry in almost two decades. Which is odd, since I was very dedicated to it before. Won awards and everything. 
My life is very messed up right now. My soul hurts. I have two immediate family members who found out they have very serious cancer THIS MONTH. Oh, and it's my 42 birthday on Saturday. 🎂

So I know this isn't very good. I know there's basically nothing left inside me. 

I'd like to have this freeform poem in decent enough shape to turn into a sharable image. That's my goal. So if you spot an error in grammar or spelling, or have a simple word substitution type suggestion, I'm open.  234 words
I am in America.
This isn't going to be award-winning. This is more that I'm screaming into the void and am SO TIRED of fighting misinformed people. Freedom of Speech is me writing this and publishing it, sharing it with you. Sort of an abstract take on the prompt.

😷💉 Put the mask on and get the vaccine if you can!

- Jamie

🛈💁ℹ 🛈💁ℹ 🛈💁ℹ 🛈💁ℹ 🛈💁ℹ 🛈💁ℹ 🛈💁ℹ 🛈💁ℹ 🛈💁ℹ 🛈💁ℹ 🛈💁ℹ 

SARS-CoV-2 is an abbreviation for severe acute respiratory syndrome coronavirus 2, also known as Covid-19 for Dec 2019 when it was first identified in; sometimes shortened to Covid or The Covid.

50 nm to 140 nm - That's the size of the Covid virus. One nanometer (1 nm) is equal to 0.000000001 meter.

🛈💁ℹ 🛈💁ℹ 🛈💁ℹ 🛈💁ℹ 🛈💁ℹ 🛈💁ℹ 🛈💁ℹ 🛈💁ℹ 🛈💁ℹ 🛈💁ℹ 🛈💁ℹ

Bullets or Blood Cells
 

What if Covid wasn't so small? 

Nanometers are invisible to the naked eye. 

We cannot harm them with our full-size weapons.

No wooden stake, silver bullet, or iron sword will pierce it.

Yet it can harm us.

To death. To extinction. 

It floats on the air.

Or lies on a surface there. 

Waiting.

Created with a patience 

Beyond what most humans possess.

What if it was larger?

Visible to the eye.

The size of a rat or a soda can.

What then would people do?

Would there be a vaccine?

Training instructions for our own cells inside.

Would you decide to get two shots?

Or load your gun

And fire at will?

How many Americans would not be dead 

If Covid could be seen?

If the NRA held rallies 

To kill the virus clean?

Which side of the aisle 

Might we stand on then

If bearing arms was the savior instead?

What if it were bee size?

If it were an insect with a head.

The government would spray 

To cover all our ground

But for two weeks you'd need to stay indoors 

And masks need be worn

Would you quarantine then?

But Covid is not big,

Though its impact is.

That which we cannot shoot 

Is considered fake to many

We won't send a blood cell

In our gun hands' stead

Better that we wait and die

Covid wins in the end?

- Jamie Aug 2021

Ideal Inspiration Blogger Award

Thank you to J R Vincente for this nomination. The blog is Adult Content, and is very fun to read when you're in a kinky kind of mood. It's gotten even better since Jayden has teamed up with Richard on the blog.

https://jrvincente.com/

Rules for the Award

1. Thank the person who has nominated you and provide a link back to their blog.
2. Answer their questions.
3. Nominate up to 9 other bloggers and ask them 5 new questions.
4. Notify the nominees through their blog by visiting and commenting on their blog.
5. List the rules and display the “Ideal Inspiration Blogger Award” logo.

The questions I was asked by Jayden and Richard:

1. How much do you like to snuggle?
• I freaking LOVE to snuggle. I'm affectionate. But I know other people aren't, so I tend to keep my need to myself, or I hug my purse, a pillow, a toy animal, or even just hold my own hand. 
2. What’s your favorite place to go on Vacation?
• What's a vacation? Oh right, that weekend adventure that happened the last pre-Covid weekend. That was, what, a million months ago? 
  Yeah, I don't know. I LOVE the beach, the ocean. But I can't be in the hot. So the beach in the late autumn or early spring, when it's too cold for all the normal people.
3. What is your favorite kink that you haven’t blogged about?
• I don't think I've blogged about this, but it is something a fair amount of people know about me. I'm really turned on by black leather boots. 
  See below.
  I'd like to tell you the boots at least have to be on a person... but no. The boot pictures below are sexier and more attractive to me than most people are.
4. Do you think Jayden should go for her Doctorate? (Or, do you see a value in getting a Doctorate?)
• I guess that depends on her goals. I think there's great value in learning just to learn. On the other hand, it's a funny thing about the word "value" because in America it means "astoundingly expensive," and she's got a fair amount on her plate as far as costs goes right now. So there would have to be a trade-off, Dr. JRV would need to be paid enough to cover the costs of that education. 
  Just for 💩🙴😆, I'll pretend that Jayden lives in one of those nutty countries where they give out education for free. Then yes, absolutely! Heck, get a double doctorate in math and language, with a minor in special education and a few sign languages. Go improve the world for the next generation. Then run for Congress or something. Run as the doctor who, unlike McGreevey, isn't going to resign for LGBTQ+ or Poly reasons, because you'll flat out announce that it's who you are and you're not hiding over it. 
  🤔 Wait, that might require you to move to a more populated area with way more Democrats. Then I'd have to miss you even more! Gah...
  But I'd still get to be super proud of you, even if you were just another person in my newsfeed for a dozen years. Go change their mindsets. Go make them care about others. Give them HE🏑🏒!
5. What do you hate most about blogging?
• I'm mostly talking to myself here. 
  But I generally blog things I don't want to say on Facebook or Instagram. 
  I'm mostly just leaving parts of myself in case anyone cares to glance at them one day.
  But unless I suddenly get super famous for something, I'm pretty sure this blog isn't going to matter to anyone in the future. Much like it barely matters to anyone right now. 
  Maybe it's okay that one day I'll be gone and the people my age and older will be gone, and there really won't be generations after who think about me long enough to dig this blog up. So I guess I hate that I have thoughts and experiences to share, but knowing that it won't matter. There's a peaceful emptiness in that. And I know the gut reaction is to argue "It's a Wonderful Life" style, but it's just an honest truth and not something I'm working toward changing. I'm only answering a question here, not pleading for help. 

😍

Nominations: 
All of my nominees commented on my blog during the April A to Z Challenge 2021.

• Author J Lenni Dorner https://jlennidorner.blogspot.com
• Jayashree Srivatsan http://pagesfromjayashree.blogspot.com/
• Brett Minor https://transformednonconformist.blogspot.com/
• Iain Kelly https://iainkellywriting.com
• Frewin55 https://how-would-you-know.com/

My five questions to my nominees:

1. If an employee under extreme stress says (verbally or written) something that is construed as insensitive to a group of people (age, gender, religion, orientation, etc), should that employee be terminated/ not have their contract renewed, or should they be given one more chance if they agree to some sort of approved sensitivity training reeducation program? 
2. At what age is it no longer appropriate to Trick-or-Treat for yourself? (Meaning exceptions are in place if accompanying a younger child, such as taking a younger sibling ToT so parents can stay at the house and give out candy.) 
3. Would you support or oppose a mandate that 75% of the human population be required to be vaccinated against Covid-19 (SARS-CoV-2 including variants and mutations)? Would your answer change if this mandate were global, your country only, or your local area only? Is there a number or percent of deaths that would influence your support or opposition of such as mandate?
4. Should celebrities be given exceptions to laws, rules, and terms of service? If so, how famous does one have to be to get that exception?
5. What is your favorite recipe to use with leftover cooked turkey? Or, what is your favorite summer pasta salad recipe? 

PLEASE let me know if you make a post with your answers! I don't want to miss reading it.

Are Emojis Vital in Text 🤔😮

🤔

Now I wonder if tone plays a part. (Which, of course, tone is removed online.) 

For example, if I said 

"I'm miskmusha!" 

Online, you'd maybe look it up and realize it's not a word and then try to figure out my typo. And even Google is like "I got nothing." So you could click like or care and move on. Or ask what it means- maybe it's a fandom. 

But if we're in person, and I cry 😫 "I'm miskmusha!" 

Is the initial response just, "no you're not, <words of comfort>"? Even though you still have no idea what the word means, but you know I'm upset. 

Whereas if I'm all, 

😁🎉 "I'm miskmusha!" 

You might just give me a 🖐 high five and reply, "yeah you are!" Again, even though you have no idea what the word means. 

So basically, does this explain the popularity and perhaps even NECESSITY of mixing emojis with text in online conversations? Because typed words lack tone. 

"😁 I'm fat! 🎉💯💯💯❗✔🕺💗"

"😭 I'm fat! 😫☠💔"

With emojis there is now a base tone. The reader knows if the poster is looking for applause 👏 and celebration (...and is perhaps willing to even fight trolls), or if the poster desires comfort and maybe someone to offer help "I'll hit the gym with you." That sort of thing. 

🤔 This feels like it could be a great philosophical essay. 🧠

*Inspiration source:

Meme share from screenshot 

Twitter @showupforthis 5/28/18 8:43pm (plus two replies 2 hours later)

 

Law and Covid

 Let's take a moment to discuss what will ACTUALLY bring Covid to a hault in 'Merica.

Either:

1) The non-vaccinated anti-maskers all die from Covid or Delta.

Or

2) The lawyers come out of hibernation with a vengeance. "Have you or a loved one suffered or died because of Covid? Did an employer not provide safe working conditions? Did someone around you not follow CDC guidelines? Call our law firm today! Medical bills, pain and suffering, funeral costs, loss of income, hardships-- we will fight to get you the financial compensation you deserve. Call now." 

Once those ads start running nonstop, there's gonna be a change. Realizing money is at stake will change things. Human life? Meh, they don't care. But once they're getting sued into the ground by dozens of people... that's gonna cause change. 

Before you argue-- secondhand smoke. They started suing for damages from second hand smoke. What happened? Places went smoke free. 

"It's my business if I wanna smoke!" 🚬

Sure it is. But it's not okay for your choice to harm or kill another person. That's where we draw the line.

"It's my choice to wear a mask or not." 😷

Not if your choice results in someone getting Covid because you spread the infection, typhoid Mary. (And FYI, typhoid Mary didn't suffer from typhoid. She was peachy fine. But she infected so many people that history remembers her name. So you might be fine, not feel any Covid issues, but it doesn't mean you're not a carrier infecting others.) 

So there you go. 

You want it to end? Start suing. 

Rant About Lack of Masks and Caring for Others

Crossposting to my blog because I'm sure Facebook will take my rant away.

“Adding a layer of nylon stocking over the masks minimized the flow of air around the edges of the masks and improved particle filtration efficiency for all masks,” the authors wrote in the study.

The nylon outer layer was able to increase the filtering capability of homemade cloth masks to match or even exceed that of medical-grade surgical masks; however, not the in-demand N95 respirators.

The health agency recommends that masks be made of at least two layers of fabric. They will also be more beneficial if a paper towel or coffee filter is put inside a sewn-in pocket on the mask.

source

"When in doubt about the quality of your mask material, conduct the light test, Segal advised. Hold up your fabric to the light, and check if you can see the individual fibers in it. If you can, it's likely too thin to provide adequate protection."
- source

My other rant is about this mask in this picture. 😷 "I'm wearing a mask!" Yeah... you're wearing a stocking that wouldn't even cover you enough to confuse the facial recognition from a Facebook algorithm, much less block a virus. Just because you think you aren't a carrier doesn't mean you aren't. 

 

#atozchallenge Reflection 2021

My theme for 2021 was a Young Adult short story. A double-date in the 1990s. An established teen couple set up their best friends with each other, but it didn't go well.

---

What post should I use for the road trip?

A is Possibly for Assignation is where the story starts, so that's the most logical.

U is for Underwear got the second most views.

L is for Love, Lies, and Lori had a big cliff-hanger.

---

I LOVE the comments I got on the Y post! 💖 My writer's heart is overwhelmed with joy.

Maybe 90's YA should be the genre I write from now on? Is that a thing?

Should I finish the story as a novella? 

The thing I learned this year is that I shouldn't start taking a class online during April if I want to keep up with commenting. 😕

I ordered a shirt. Here it is against one my NaNoWriMo shirts of the same size. The A to Z shirt is cut a little smaller, especially in the arm/ chest area.

Z is for Zero Days Left to Live #atozchallenge #ShortStory

My theme for 2021 is a Young Adult short story. A double-date in the 1990s. An established teen couple sets up their best friends with each other, but it doesn't go well.

---

Today's word count is approximately: 660 words

Z is for Zero Days Left to Live

Nothing feels real. Lance practically falls into the chair beside the bed, his legs shaking under him. The quake runs through him, finally breaking the damn at his eyes. He buries his face against me, soaking my shirt. I hold him as best I can. 

Madelyn went straight for the anger phase of grief. She blamed me for letting it happen, her parents for sending him away that night, Lance for suggesting Chinese food, and herself for not planning a date with a sit-down meal built-in. There was screaming, praying, and crying. I don't know which she did more. I tuned out at some point.

I kept replaying Lance driving to the hospital. I was accustomed to his speeding by now, but this was different. From the backseat, Yohann's head in my lap with a cold rag against his face, I swore the car was flying. Red lights and stop signs were all ignored. I half thought the Chevy was going to drive into the hospital instead of stopping at the curb. 

Then there were the questions. So many questions. Was Yohann's family from the Mediterranean? Why couldn't we reach his mother? How did his father die? 

Yohann vomited. Lance screamed at the doctor to quit asking questions and help already. He grabbed the young man by his white jacket and then threw-up all over him. He apologized and sat down, putting his head between his legs and crying. 

I held Yohann's hand while a nurse put an IV in. Lance used the bedside phone to call Yohann's mom, again, and leave yet another frantic message.

"They think he has Glucose-6-phosphate dehydrogenase. I don't know what the hell that means! Please check your damn messages and call back."

Yohann whispered to me, "business trip," before he passed out.

Lance and I went to Yohann's house this morning. The name of the hotel Yohann's mom was supposed to be at was on the fridge. Lance called, but there was no record of her. After digging through some things, he found an address book with the number for her work. He called and asked where the company sent her. They said she was on a personal vacation with her son.

"He's laid up in the hospital, so I doubt that. If she checks in, tell her that her son is dying and ask her to call Lance." He slammed the phone down on the receiver. Then ripped the whole thing off the wall and smashed it.

I decided not to give him crap about the mess. What kind of irresponsible parent doesn't leave a way to be reached? Anything could have happened! 

Anything did happen.

I used another phone to call the number in the address book that Lance was pretty sure was Yohann's cousin. It turned out that cousin was more of the loose term, as their dads had been best friends, but not actually related. 

"His parents are both siblingless. Unlike my dad, who has six brothers and three sisters. The grandparents got down in their day, you know what I'm saying?"

I laughed uncomfortably and ended the call. The phone rang in my hands.

The woman on the other end said she was calling from the hospital and asked for Yohann's mom.

"We're here looking for her. Has there been a change?" I mouthed to Lance that the hospital was on the line.

"I can't release that information. Please have her call as soon as possible." 

Lance grabbed the phone. "I'm the family he's got right now. Is he okay?"

He dropped the phone.

"We have to go."

I don't remember the ride here. I don't know where we parked. I barely remember being in the elevator, holding on to Lance, feeling water running down my face.

Now there's the smell of bleach and lemon. A motionless lump under a white sheet. A bag with Yohann's name. 

And machines that are too quiet. 

---

Did you enjoy this story? It's currently about 10,000 words. It could become longer and turn into a novel. Is there a market for YA fiction set 25 years ago?

JamieWriter7 on Pinterest

Right now, it looks like he died for the shock value. (Or to teach you about fava beans killing people - Glucose-6-phosphate dehydrogenase, which was slightly exaggerated in timing during these last two letters.) But the death might be motivation if the story continues. 

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Thank you for reading! 

If you're on mobile and can't see my sidebar:

https://www.bloglovin.com/blogs/uniquely-maladjusted-but-fun-13546807 - My Bloglovin link

My Twitter would be @PenMinion - but I'm suspended right now. I used a quote from a comedian to threaten my self-critical inner voices. I didn't know that voices in my head were protected by Twitter's TOS. But they are. And even though the comedian has a Twitter account, and the quoted joke is available as a gif on Twitter, it was still a violation of the TOS. (And possibly racist?) Feel free to scroll this blog to learn more. I have several posts about it. In the meantime, never threaten inner voices of self-doubt, because you can be kicked off of social media for such an action. 

💰
Get Stash, an app that makes investing easy. If you sign up with my link and add cash, we both get $20 of bonus stock. https://get.stash.com/jamieejv28 💵

Please let me know who you are on the Master List if you're doing a to z-- I'd like to visit you too!

Have a puuuurfect day. 🐈

Y is for Yohann Did Not See This Coming #atozchallenge #ShortStory

My theme for 2021 is a Young Adult short story. A double-date in the 1990s. An established teen couple sets up their best friends with each other, but it doesn't go well.

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Today's word count is approximately: 770 words

Y is for Yohann Did Not See This Coming

We get back in Lance's car. He bursts out laughing as soon as the engine starts.

"Sweet Princess? Make them dinner? Very much like to spend time with them? Bull." 

I groove along to Little Miss Can't Be Wrong by the Spin Doctors. "Poor Yohann. They're never going to like you."

"Hey, I got us out of there, didn't I? And is she crying right now? No. Even though we had to ditch her. Now can we please go somewhere to eat this? I'm starving."

I realize, as Lance turns at the end of the street, where he's most likely to drive. "We didn't get food for Mike."

"He has his own food. It's his place." Lance turns the radio up.

I turn it back down. He frowns. "It's rude to show up without food for him. We could go to a park or something."

"They close at sunset," Yohann says.

"They can't close a park. There's no fence or gate. How are they going to close nature? You think the trees all move together? The squirrels gather their forces and demand the humans keep out?" I cross my arms.

"No. I think the cops drive by and if they see a car, they stop to throw people out. Besides, we can't watch the movie in a park," Yohann replies as he finger-drums along to the song.

"Mike can have my egg roll," Lance offers. 

He already had your girlfriend, why not give him an eggroll? But Lance doesn't know that. Yohann does. And this is going to be his revenge.

"Babe, we know exactly one person with their own place. Mike had the good fortune of graduating and inheriting that apartment complex. A job and a place to live, all in one swoop. And he shows his gratitude for his windfall by having his old team members over whenever we want. Making sure we always have a place. Yeah, Yohann and I are the ones that visit most often. But that's because our families suck the most."

"Preach it," Yohann chimes in from the back seat.

I sigh. "I'm just saying, if we're going over, we should bring him food too. It's rude to show up without some for him too."

Lance spins the wheel, pulling a U-turn at the light. He floors it back toward the mall. 

All the speeding and road-rule-breaking that Madelyn's mom had threatened about. At least she's not with us now.

*******

Mike's food is the only container that's hot by the time we get to his place. 

"You brought me something? That was nice of you." Mike pulls out his wallet and hands Lance a fifty-dollar bill.

"That's more than the whole meal." Lance holds up his hands in protest. "Besides, it was her idea."

Mike looks at me. "Was it? Well, it costs time and money to bring the food. What'd you bring to put in my mouth?" 

He shoves the fifty in Lance's shirt, never breaking eye-contact with me. I look at the floor, but when I glance up, he's still staring. I feel naked, despite my clothing.

Yohann pulls the food out. He yanks the metal handle from his container before popping the food in the microwave. Gotta love meals that come with their own plates. 

Ten minutes later, we're all in the living room with our food, the movie playing on the tv. I'm wedged on the yellow couch between Mike and Lance. Yohann has taken the beanbag chair alongside the coffee table. There are fingers running along my legs on both sides, as both guys are touching me.

I want to move to Lance's lap. Or put him in the middle. Except this is the normal configuration. If I make a big deal out of it, Lance will know something's up. 

Mike isn't just his friend. This is his refuge. He can never know what happened. 

"I feel sick," Yohann says as someone dies on-screen.

"Wuss," Lance says as he takes his last bite of broccoli. 

"No, seriously," Yohann doubles up and rolls off the beanbag chair.

"What's wrong?" Mike pauses the movie.

Lance gets up and goes to Yohann's side.

"My stomach. And my head." Yohann has Lance help him up a moment before he runs for the bathroom.

*******

I cling to Lance's hand as we walk into the hospital room. The machines are all quiet now. A white sheet covers a lump on the bed. There's a white plastic bag on the table, Yohann's name written in black letters. Everything smells like lemon and bleach. Lance's cologne can't disguise the scent. 

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Thank you for reading! 

If you're on mobile and can't see my sidebar:

https://www.bloglovin.com/blogs/uniquely-maladjusted-but-fun-13546807 - My Bloglovin link

My Twitter would be @PenMinion - but I'm suspended right now. I used a quote from a comedian to threaten my self-critical inner voices. I didn't know that voices in my head were protected by Twitter's TOS. But they are. And even though the comedian has a Twitter account, and the quoted joke is available as a gif on Twitter, it was still a violation of the TOS. (And possibly racist?) Feel free to scroll this blog to learn more. I have several posts about it. In the meantime, never threaten inner voices of self-doubt, because you can be kicked off of social media for such an action. 

💰
Get Stash, an app that makes investing easy. If you sign up with my link and add cash, we both get $20 of bonus stock. https://get.stash.com/jamieejv28 💵

Please let me know who you are on the Master List if you're doing a to z-- I'd like to visit you too!

Have a puuuurfect day. 🐈

X is for the Xièxiè, qǐng zàilái Chinese restaurant #atozchallenge #ShortStory

My theme for 2021 is a Young Adult short story. A double-date in the 1990s. An established teen couple sets up their best friends with each other, but it doesn't go well.

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Today's word count is approximately: 877 words

X is for the Xièxiè, qǐng zàilái Chinese restaurant

We head outside and follow the sidewalk to the far end of the mall, where XQZ is located. The building is attached, but there's no entrance from inside the mall. 

Big, golden letters have "Xièxiè, qǐng zàilái" written on the door. But, since no one ever says it right, everyone just calls the place XQZ. It means "thank you, please come again" in some form of Chinese. At least, that's what one of the waiters told me when I asked a few years ago.

We grab a to-go menu and pick out what we want. 

"Should we get something for your parents?" Yohann asks Madelyn. 

"Yes," Lance points the pen at Madelyn. "We should butter them up. What do they like?"

"Moo goo gai pan," she answers. 

Lance circles a large of it under the chicken dishes. I point to the cashew chicken, which he circles for me. He marks the beef and broccoli for himself. 

Yohann looks over the menu and picks a stir-fry dish with pork and fava beans. He makes a Hannibal Lector joke from the Silence of the Lambs movie.

"Did you know the book and movie list two different wines? Chianti doesn't actually pair well with liver," Madelyn says as she circles an item. 

"Drink a lot of wine?" Yohann asks. 

Lance adds appetizers and places our order while Madelyn explains about an article she read in some magazine her parents subscribe to. I've heard the story seven million times. Good to know that someone has figured out what wines go best with human body parts. How does one apply for that job? 

*******

We pull up to Madelyn's place five minutes before her curfew. Lance carries the bag of food. Yohann touches Madelyn's back as we head to the door, then crams his hands in his jacket. 

"Mom, Dad, I'm home!"

Her parents reply that they're in the kitchen. We head in there.

"Have a nice time?" Her dad asks.

Madelyn sets her flower and the bag with her book on the counter. "Yes. We didn't think about food until late though. So we got take-out from XQZ. I bought some for you two. And we rented a movie."

Her mom crosses her arms. "A bit late for a movie."

Madelyn frowns. 

"Have I seen it?" Madelyn's dad asks before finishing his drink.

"Outbreak. We didn't see it in theaters."

Her mom scoffs. "The one where that nice capuchin, Katie, from Friends is blamed for making a whole town sick? As if that animal hasn't been through enough."

"Mom," Madelyn squeezes the bridge of her nose as she pleads, "can we please just sit in the living room, eat our dinner, and watch the movie?"

"No."

Madelyn stomps her foot. I inch behind Lance. I hate being here when she argues with her parents.

"Why not?"

"We were generous enough to allow you out until eight. This feels like a trick, a way to extend your curfew until ten. Next time you'll call from a restaurant and ask if you can stay out to eat a meal there. You'll argue there's no difference between eating there versus eating here. Assuming we even allow there to be a next time, considering you're already trying to push the limit by bending the rules." Madelyn's mom eyes me. She's secretly blaming me. Deciding that this food and movie were my idea. Probably considering grabbing a knife from the butcher block beside her and having one less bad influence in her daughter's life. There's a magazine around here somewhere to tell her what wine to drink with my internal organs.

Yohann puts his hand on Madelyn's shoulder. "Understandable. I had hoped we could all get to know each other better tonight over a meal and a movie. But perhaps that's best suited to another time. I do hope you'll consider inviting me over sometime. Perhaps allow me to make dinner for the three of you?"

Madelyn's mom steps back, her rump hitting the counter. "You want to cook us dinner?"

"Yes, I should very much like to spend time getting to know all three of you, as well as having you get to know me." Yohann flashes a smile.

I know Lance wants to bang his head off the wall. Yohann is good with adult authority figures. Lance and I, not so much. 

The grandfather clock strikes eight. Yohann takes Madelyn's hand and pulls it to his lips. "Good night, Sweet Princess. I hope we will see each other again."

He turns and heads to the door. Madelyn and her parents leave their jaws dropped on the floor.

Lance sets the bag on the table, rummages inside, and grabs two containers. He checks them, decides it's the right ones, and leaves them. He tosses three fortune cookies and wooden chopstick packets down. Then does one of those weird salute waves, grabs the bag, and reaches for my hand as he heads toward the door.

"Bye, I guess," I say, then mouth for Madelyn to call me later as I take Lance's hand and go.

(For a Happily Ever After - stop reading now. For the real ending, come back for the next two shocking posts.) 

 

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Thank you for reading! 

If you're on mobile and can't see my sidebar:

https://www.bloglovin.com/blogs/uniquely-maladjusted-but-fun-13546807 - My Bloglovin link

My Twitter would be @PenMinion - but I'm suspended right now. I used a quote from a comedian to threaten my self-critical inner voices. I didn't know that voices in my head were protected by Twitter's TOS. But they are. And even though the comedian has a Twitter account, and the quoted joke is available as a gif on Twitter, it was still a violation of the TOS. (And possibly racist?) Feel free to scroll this blog to learn more. I have several posts about it. In the meantime, never threaten inner voices of self-doubt, because you can be kicked off of social media for such an action. 

💰
Get Stash, an app that makes investing easy. If you sign up with my link and add cash, we both get $20 of bonus stock. https://get.stash.com/jamieejv28 💵

Please let me know who you are on the Master List if you're doing a to z-- I'd like to visit you too!

Have a puuuurfect day. 🐈